Two Men Walk Into a Bar
by Niente Zero
Summary: Sequel to Opposite Day. Ray Vecchio promised to take his new partner out for a properly relaxing evening in Chicago. Is it even possible for the boys to stay out of trouble for one night? Oh, of course not! But are thugs or karaoke a bigger threat?


_In **Opposite Day**, Ray Vecchio saved Fraser from the consequences of self-destructive behavior. Now Ray makes good on his promise to take his friend out for a properly relaxing night. And boy, does he have a story to tell you!_

**Two Men Walk Into a Bar**

Oh, you want to hear about the whole boys' night out? Well, it started a couple of weeks ago. Actually, I guess it started way back from that, but I can't tell you everything, so we'll go from there.

There's this guy, Fraser, see, and where do I start? Well, he's Canadian. He's a cop, same as me. I got to know him because I was assigned to investigate some local tie-ins to his father's murder. Uh, I guess I'll get to the whole dead Dad part, and how that connects with what happened.

What happened a couple of weeks ago? Well, this guy Fraser gets drunk and picks a fight in a bar in a rough part of town. How is that news? Looks like I have to back up even further and tell you some stuff about Fraser. Then you'll get it. Because if you knew Fraser at all you wouldn't believe me when I told you that, so I have a lot to explain.

I already blew the suspense by mentioning the murder. You might think, sure, of course the guy is going out and drowning his sorrows. If it were me, then you'd probably be right. Me, I'm like a tea-kettle. I get up a head of steam fast, but then I let it out with a lot of noise and I'm done.

Fraser, he's like, well, Ma used to have this pressure cooker, you know, she'd use it to cook big loads of beans for pasta. You put the lid on tight, you put a weight on top and the steam just builds up inside. If you're not careful, one day you don't take the lid off in time and bam! You've got beans all over your kitchen ceiling. She didn't keep that thing very long. Fraser's like that. Only most of the time he's maddeningly good at keeping the lid on. Most of the time you wouldn't even think there was anything but rainbows and kittens, or polar bear cubs probably, lurking in his -what's the word - yeah, subconscious.

So Fraser. His Dad gets killed, and then he has to come chase down the murderer because everyone else is, "oh, hunting accident", yeah, right. He did a fine job figuring out what happened, but boy, was it not pretty. Corruption, betrayal, the works. Then not only is his Dad dead, but Fraser's arrested a high ranking colleague and suddenly no one wants to know him in Canada. Which is bullshit, right? But isn't that just how it goes? And there's this political tie-in which I don't totally get, and I don't get Fraser started talking about it, because I asked him what the deal was with the softwood lumber trade agreement and he didn't shut up for an hour.

So what with the murder and some other stuff, Fraser has some serious daddy issues. Oh, sure, I have my own issues, but you show me a guy in the neighborhood whose father wasn't a drunken blowhard, and I'll trade you for a unicorn. My issues, sheez, whatever. I got my temper from my father, so at least I guess you could say I come by that honestly. Fraser, man, his Dad couldn't be less like mine, but he still managed to screw the kid up but good.

Plus, and I only mention this because it's kind of part of telling you who Fraser is, the guy has a sick compulsion to open doors for people.

So there you go, you've got pressure-cooker guy, stuck down here away from everything and everyone he's ever known, completely failing to go through the twelve steps of grieving or whatever it is. Or is that drinking? How many stages are there of grieving? I dunno, anyway, he's stuck in, what, probably stage number two or something. He's sure not doing anything healthy about it. Because opening doors does _not_ count.

And now, if you're anything like my Pop, and I'm not saying you are, you want to know why I'm hanging around with a loser like that. Which means I didn't get you the whole picture of Fraser. I haven't known him that long, but there's a lot more to him than Mr. Bottle-Up-My-Rage-Issues.

Well, let's see. He's a good cop. And I don't just mean in a good cop/bad cop way, although he does make a great straight man. He's not a city guy but he sees and hears a lot of stuff other people miss. He can do guilt better than Ma can. You can picture an Italian Mamma and figure it out from there. Not that he's trying to manipulate anyone. He just acts surprised if you don't do whatever he thinks the right thing is. Then, he's got charisma too. You might think I'm crazy, but I got up out of my hospital bed and tracked him down in the ... no, you _will_ think I'm crazy, but seriously, in the Arctic circle, to help him get his Dad's murderer. I'm still not sure why I did that. But if you spent ten minutes with him, you'd get it too. It's a freaking mystery.

Damn. I was just going to tell you about this one night out, and what went down and all, and I find myself having to start at the beginning so you know all the 'why' stuff. That other night that we ended up in a brawl? Well, I was on my way to drag Fraser out for a little R & R when I found out he'd finally blown the lid off the beans.

Now, he doesn't have any idea how drunk he got. The guy is _not_ a drinker, so I told him he had one drink and he thinks that was enough for him to forget everything that happened. Which, by the way, is kinda naïve. Sometimes I wonder how he doesn't get taken in by every three-card-monte dealer on the street. Except probably he'd end up finding the queen every time, winning all the money, and persuading the con artists to take up a life of charity. Jeez, I'm rambling, but you know what? I can't tell if he's naïve, or if he's got us all duped. I keep thinking I know for sure, and then I don't.

Anyway. He's not ever going to know how drunk he got, or anything else that happened that night, either. Most of the time I wouldn't pass up the chance to razz a friend about that kind of stuff, but he'd take it way too hard, and that just wouldn't be funny.

So I knew that if I was going to take him out and give him a safety valve before that pressure blew with a few more consequences than one stupid night, it was going to have to be some G rated action. Which, for me, is hard to find. I mean, I grew up in this town, and we weren't exactly looking for places where you could have more fun _not_ drinking and chasing skirt.

So I make a few calls. Okay, fine, first call was Ma calling me and getting all sorts of excited about having Fraser over, because she's decided he's not getting nearly enough suffocating nagging about eating right and wearing clean socks, especially since she found out he's an orphan. I tried to get out of it, but I couldn't, so that was a great start to our big night out: Dinner with the Vecchio family. Chaos. I'm not even going to describe it.

I gotta give Fraser credit where it's due, he just lets the whole family scene roll right over him, and you know, I think he might even like Ma fussing at him. Although the part where she made him take his sweater off so they could compare notes on how he darned the sleeve was just embarrassing. I'm a sharp dresser, whereas, out of uniform Fraser looks like he's about to go off on a fishing trip.

After dinner we head out to this jazz club I know on the south side. Me, Fraser, and his wolf, Diefenbaker. Yeah, wolf. Half-wolf I guess. He's a nice dog if he likes you, but you try to mess with Fraser, or run when Fraser doesn't want you to, and the wolf half is fully in charge. Anyway, why were we taking the wolf? Get this: Fraser says, as we get in my car, "Diefenbaker was very disappointed in me on that unfortunate evening when I became inebriated. He gave me the silent treatment for days afterwards." Yup, seriously. The wolf is even better at guilt trips than Fraser _or_ Ma. And I swear to you, when I glared at Dief because he had to be dragged along on our night out, he just winked at me.

The wolf had to wait outside. Fraser said it didn't matter anyway as Dief is deaf, and wouldn't appreciate the music. Fraser got us a table and I hit the bar. He didn't ask for a real drink, and I didn't offer. You know, when I was younger, we might have hassled any cop who wouldn't have a drink or two with the boys, but setting aside Pop and any of that, I've seen enough in my years on the force of what drinking does to some people that if a guy says he isn't, then he isn't, and that's that. Besides, I had quite enough wrangling a guy who has no business hitting the sauce the last time we were out.

So I got me a drink and him a ginger ale. I sat on that drink while we listened to the band just blow the roof off the joint. Fraser sort of looked relaxed. It was hard to tell. I'm not sure he knows how to slouch.

Anyway, it was still only half past nine, quarter of ten when I got bored of watching Fraser sip his ginger ale.

"You having fun?" I asked him.

"Why, yes, Ray. This is very pleasant." And it wasn't that he was insincere, I just wasn't convinced this was getting anywhere close to the safety valve he needed. Which was hard as hell to gauge with the whole "please let's not talk about feelings" vibe, and trust me I didn't _want_ to talk about feelings, ugh, so it was trial and error.

We took off from that club and headed down the street, and that's where things started to get funny. Because Fraser finds another club and decides, hey, "Karaoke", that's a Japanese word, how very fascinating. So without listening to my explanations of why Karaoke bars are traditionally only patronized by people already blasted out of their skulls, he's off into the club to intrepidly explore whatever facet of Japanese culture has somehow made it to Chicago. Oh, and this time? The wolf is right on his heels. And of course, everyone else there _is_ blasted out of their skulls, so what's a wolf among friends?

I get the same order of drinks and grab a table. My buddy takes one look at what's going on and, with this big-ass grin by his standards, embraces the concept. He was up on stage before I could blink. I'll give him this, he can sing. After belting out a Bryan Adams song, he comes and sits down, and we have all the beautiful women we can handle crowding around to tell him how great his voice is, which is good, because he's the one I'm trying to get. Ah. You know. Relaxed. So to speak.

Then when he got done being incredibly polite but totally not playing on the advantage he had, and the crowd dispersed some, I saw the wolf staring at him and damned if he wasn't talking to it.

"No, I'm not going to sing that for you. Oh, for crying out loud. It's not even a good film. It's so trite and emotionally manipulative. I don't know where you get these ideas."

Mind you, the wolf just kept staring at him through this, then Fraser turned to me and muttered "There's no telling some people." and then he was up and back on stage again, crooning that song from Beaches. And the wolf was clearly loving the attention, and apparently lip-reading the song. Don't worry, I'm due for a psychological evaluation soon, although there is no way I'm going to admit that I think the deaf wolf was lip-reading the mountie's performance.

Fraser came back down off the stage and I could see he really was enjoying himself. I mean, he was still his reserved self, but get him singing and he's all soul, so I figured we were settling in for the rest of the night. Not that I was going to sing. No, thank you. I have more sense than that. But still, I was thinking this was not so bad compared to our last night out, when the weird started to hit the fan.

I have to stop a second and fill you in. When I told Fraser he only had one drink that other night, he wanted to know how he ended up with bruised knuckles. Well, you and I know better, truthfully he managed to get some other guy to swing first in a bar brawl, but that's not what I told him. What I told him was that some shady characters followed a girl out of the bar we were in, and he went out and saved her from a fate worse than whatever.

So Fraser's coming back to the table when I see him react as he spots something across the club. I turn to look and I see it too. Well, I'd have noticed her anyway, five foot nothing, honey-blond hair, ninety pounds dripping wet, in some improbable red sequined number. Slumming, I guess. She was headed out of the club by a side-door, and there, as specified by the universe's sense of humor or something, were a nasty pair of thugs detaching themselves from the walls to go after her. Make it even better, she catches a glimpse of them and I see her make eye contact with Fraser, who stood out in the crowd as actually paying attention, and mouth "help" at him. I'd have been vaguely insulted that she didn't ask me for help but I don't think she saw me. Now we had deja vu all over again, if you don't count the fact that it never actually happened the first time.

There wasn't any question we were going after them. I might have minded my own business if it was a guy, but Fraser never would have, and I have a soft spot for blondes in red dresses. But don't go thinking I'm turning into a complete sap just because Fraser's been hanging around. I don't know why we can't enjoy a peaceful night without trouble showing up.

We pushed our way to a dimly lit corridor that leads to an alley behind the club. I caught up with Fraser right by the door and that's when he gave me the strangest look, his head cocked to one side. "This is exactly what you said happened when we were out last time, Ray."

I shrugged, because what could I say? Anyway, they say when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro. I don't know exactly what that means but it seemed to apply. I didn't actually answer him because when Fraser's not nursing the one monumental hangover of his lifetime, he's way too good at spotting a lie.

Speaking of lies, I guess the girl in the red dress didn't need a lot of help after all. Fraser went through the door before me, and I was still in the shadows of the corridor when I felt him reach back and shove me behind the door.

I heard him say, "What is it that I can do for you?" and I wasn't hearing the sort of scuffling you'd expect if the guys were mugging the girl, which is when I figured things had gone from bad to worse. I got my gun out of my holster, just in case.

The girl started to talk, and, well, I don't care if she filled that little red dress perfectly, her voice was pure nails on a chalkboard. Minnie Mouse after a helium binge. Which didn't help make what she was saying any prettier.

"You know what we want. Hand over the stuff. Don't try anything stupid, or Herman will have to hurt you." All in that irritating whine. Plus, one of the thugs was called Herman? If the other one was called Igor it'd just make my night complete.

It was a lousy con. Firstly, luring good samaritans out of the club was definitely no way to guarantee you got a guy with a fat wallet. Secondly, there were three of them. There was no reason for them to bother trying to find a soft target. They could have jumped anyone that came down that alley. That worried me, a lot. Something else had to be going down. Like, what did she mean, "stuff"? Did they think Fraser was someone he wasn't?

Fraser didn't seem any kind of flustered. He said "Threatening someone with a firearm is a felony." And then, proving he can be smart, "If you would be so kind, Herman, as to give me your gun, I will effect a citizen's arrest." Okay, so it was nonsense about arresting them, but he just told me that it was only one of them, and not the girl, who had a gun. Good start. Provided they didn't start shooting.

There was that mosquito whine of a voice again. "Don't give me that crap. We know you have it. This is the right place and day. You gave the signal in the club."

Fraser said, "I'm afraid I really don't know what you could be talking about." which only made the girl's whine get whinier.

"The song, you moron. You sang it. Playing dumb won't get you out of this. We want the stuff. Igor, search him."

Yup. Igor. My night out had turned into a thing of beauty. I heard Fraser get slammed against the wall outside the door, and I guess Igor was patting him down because then I hear this thick, dull voice saying "Nice watch. I think I'll keep it." Mistake. Big mistake. That watch belonged to Fraser's Dad.

I knew that was my cue to come out and join the party, so I shoved the door open, holding my gun in front of me. Fraser wasn't standing around letting Igor feel him up any more. He'd got Igor in an arm lock, and he was looking good and mad. The way Fraser was holding Igor put Igor between Fraser and Herman's gun too. Nice moves.

The girl in the red dress saw me quick enough to turn and get out of the way so she wasn't between me and Herman. I didn't have time to think, just had to shoot Herman before he started shooting. I got him good in the arm. The girl was trying to run, which is where what I said earlier comes in, because Dief was between her and the end of the alley, all his fur raised up around his neck making him look twice as big, teeth bared. No-one was going anywhere. By now, Igor was on the ground in front of Fraser, and the whole mess was over. Pretty neat work.

I called in for some back-up and checked in on how Fraser was doing.

"You all right?"

I got a "Yes, thank you, Ray." which was good enough, but don't think I missed that faraway look in Fraser's eyes before he blinked.

We got the three of them down to the station and hospital respectively, without too much noise and fuss, because I wanted to get someone back in the club in a hurry to pick up whoever did give the signal Fraser was supposed to have given, and find out what the "stuff" was. Possibly the real contact had been scared off already by my shot, but it was worth a try.

'Someone' turned out to be me and Fraser again, since we were in appropriate clothing. We didn't know if the signal was the Bryan Adams or the Bette Midler though, so we ended up discreetly questioning two Robin Hood wannabes and a lady in the middle of a hot flush, not to mention also sitting through six different girls totally failing to hit the high notes in "I Will Always Love You" before we got the guy with the goods. It was the Bette Midler. Go figure.

I thought that was going to be the end of our night out, because we were tied up for hours at the station. The stuff that the guy was carrying was some pretty high grade heroin, and our would-be muggers had some rivalry going on with the people that the singer was supposed to be meeting. It looked promising that we'd found an in on a major operation. It was maybe three in the morning when we got done.

Fraser was looking pretty tired. I think he normally goes to bed when the sun goes down. I was about to offer to drive him home when one of the other detectives, Jack Huey, got out of interviewing a suspect he'd just picked up, and started in on the smack talk.

"What, you're not going home now? The night is young. You just don't know how to live." It's not what he says, it's the way he says it that gets on my nerve, so I bite.

"Yeah, what do you have in mind, hotshot? Bring it on."

I did not know that there was an all-night glow-in-the-dark miniature golf course two blocks away from the station. You learn something new every day. Huey and his partner, Louis Gardino, challenged us to a round. They must have been pretty damn bored. Fraser, with his usual dedication to the cause, volunteered cheerfully to stay up a few hours longer and play. Turned out to be a natural at it, too. He said it was as much fun as hunting ptarmigan with a slingshot. You can look that up, because me, I have no idea. Whatever, we won.

So that's how, on his second attempt at a night off, Benton Fraser learned what karaoke was, serenaded a deaf wolf, helped bust a drug ring, and beat the duck boys in his first ever game of miniature golf. Which just goes to show, kids, you can have fun without alcohol.

But boy, did I need a drink afterwards.

There's one more thing, and this is strictly in confidence, because it's feelings stuff. Not that we got all hugging and crying or anything, because that would be weird. It was just this conversation in the car when I was finally driving Fraser home.

I look over and he's rubbing the glass of his watch softly with his finger, he's a million miles away. I guess he noticed me looking, because he looked up, and maybe I was tired, because I flat out said "You know, Benny, I was hoping we could have one night where you didn't have to be reminded..."

And then he smiled, or half way at least, and said, "It's fine, Ray. I know I've been," he paused a bit, I guess getting his thoughts together, "I've been taking things badly. It's been difficult to adjust. But I was thinking that it's not all bad, Ray. I've worked alone, a lot. I grew up... alone, a lot. Tonight, you knew to come out from the corridor at exactly the right moment. I've never... Well, thank you."

That was it, then he coughed and looked away, and I changed the subject and we both pretended we didn't just have a moment.

That's probably the longest I've heard him talk about his feelings, so I guess the safety valve thing went okay. And maybe they can tell me at my psychological evaluation why I even care so much. Because this guy Fraser, apparently I'm just as soft as Ma about looking after him. But if you ever dare tell anyone that...!

**Author's Note: The songs are respectively "(Everything I Do) I Do It for You", because I figured Benny might like to sing something Canadian, and Celine Dion was right out. Also, because wouldn't you just swoon? And "Wind Beneath My Wings", because Diefenbaker really can be demanding. You let a wolf save your life, and they make you pay and pay and pay. ;)**

The miniature golf? Well, at the end of the night I didn't think the boys had had enough fun-to-trouble ratio, and I only know one thing that's guaranteed to "make all your troubles go away."

If someone could tell me why I feel compelled to write sappy friendship stories right now, I'd be much obliged.


End file.
